Malfoy Manor
by Alohaemora
Summary: Rose Granger-Weasley and Scorpius Malfoy have something to tell their parents. As painful memories resurface, the two families must decide what's truly important.
1. The Announcement

12 August 2025

Rose lifted her chin, taking a deep breath, as she faced the double doors of the enormous mansion. She had never before seen a house so large, nor so lavishly decorated. She wasn't sure if it had been a trick of the light, but she thought she might have seen a white peacock wandering the aisles of the sprawling garden, by the front gate…

She glanced to her right. Scorpius's face, characteristically pale, was now shockingly so, but he was staring at the doors with determined bravado. Rose felt a twinge of panic; she had no idea what she was about to witness, but she already feared the worst. Dimly, she wondered what would happen if Scorpius's parents disowned him. Would Scorpius break up with her and choose his family? _Surely not_ …but could she even blame him if he did? She couldn't imagine having to choose between Scorpius and her own family. Crossing her fingers tightly in her pocket of her cloak, she prayed that she wouldn't have to.

Frowning, Scorpius reached up and knocked the ornate, serpentine knocker against the door for a second time. It had been nearly a minute since his first knock.

Suddenly, the door swung open and both Rose and Scorpius straightened as a woman appeared in the door frame. She had long, shining brown curls and dark, shrewd eyes—Scorpius's eyes. There was no doubt in Rose's mind who this woman was.

To her right, Scorpius swallowed heavily. "Hi, Mum," he said with a weak smile. "I've missed you."

Mrs. Malfoy was staring at her son in utter astonishment, as though she couldn't quite believe his presence. Then, suddenly, she let out a strangled cry of happiness, hurtling forward and throwing her arms around him—accidentally brushing Rose aside, in the process. "You're _home_!" she exclaimed, hugging him so tightly that Rose heard him gasp for breath. "Oh, _Scorpius_ , we weren't expecting you home from Italy until September!"

"The program finished early," Scorpius croaked, awkwardly patting his mother's back. Over Mrs. Malfoy's shoulder, he shot Rose a furtive look, and Rose bit her lip, taking a cautious step forward. "Er—Mum, I have something to—"

But Mrs. Malfoy had already pulled away from her son and sought out Rose. Her eyes widened. "Hello," she said, in a tone that was guarded, but not hostile.

Rose looked at Scorpius. With a half-glance in her direction, Scorpius cleared his throat. "Can we come in, Mum? I…I'll explain inside."

Mrs. Malfoy gazed at Rose for another moment. Rose shifted her feet uneasily. Then, at last, Mrs. Malfoy stepped aside, and Scorpius walked in through the doors, Rose a couple paces behind him. They proceeded down a dimly lit corridor until they reached another set of double doors that led into a bright, open drawing room.

Rose froze.

If she had thought the outside of the manor had looked intimidating, then she was sorely mistaken. The inside was absolutely chill-inducing. There were six gold-plated staircases, each with snakelike banisters, leading out of the parlor in every imaginable direction, and the ceiling of the room—complete with a massive, glittering chandelier—was higher than the Great Hall's. The mantel above the marble fireplace was lined with countless, gruesome-looking silver ornaments and candelabras, and by the fireplace, there was a set of four handsome—but fearsome—green-cushioned, oak furniture pieces: a sofa, two armchairs, and a settee.

Rose's brain screeched suddenly to a halt. The room appeared to loom over her, threatening her. She turned to Scorpius, eyes wide.

Clenching his jaw, Scorpius reached out and took Rose's hand in his, giving her fingers a reassuring squeeze. Then, he glanced over Rose's shoulder at his mother, who had followed the pair into the drawing room, looking very wary.

Scorpius stepped towards her, Rose in tow. "Mum, this is—"

" _Scorpius_? Is that _you_?"

Both Rose and Scorpius jumped, looking up. On the second floor landing stood a tall, slender man with receding blonde hair and a pointed face. Rose's breath caught in her throat; next to her, Scorpius went very still.

"Draco, come downstairs," called Mrs. Malfoy, in an oddly constricted voice. Rose chanced a glance at her, and Mrs. Malfoy's eyes latched onto hers; Rose quickly looked away.

Mr. Malfoy hurried down the staircase and came to stand next to his wife. With a jolt, Rose realized that Scorpius looked almost exactly like his father, with the same pale features, sharp jaw, and high cheekbones. Scorpius's hair, however, was a fuller, darker blond, and his eyes were brown, like his mother's.

Mr. Malfoy's eyes were gray. And they were narrowed, very, very unwelcomingly—at Rose. Her stomach twisted into a knot.

"What is this?" Mr. Malfoy asked in a low voice, turning to gaze at his son with a formidable glint in his eye. "What is the meaning of this, Scorpius?"

Mrs. Malfoy, plainly discomfited by her husband's tone, placed a cautious hand on his shoulder. "Draco, stay calm," she said quietly, shooting a worried look in Rose's direction.

Mr. Malfoy shook off his wife's hand, advancing towards Scorpius, who, Rose was amazed to see, was very much standing his own ground.

"Dad, this is Rose Granger-Weasley," Scorpius said icily, glaring at Mr. Malfoy.

Mr. Malfoy didn't spare Rose a second glimpse; his eyes were locked onto his son's. "You shouldn't have brought her here," he said, and his voice was now so low that Rose was afraid to breathe. " _Scorpius_ , you shouldn't have brought—"

"Oh, my goodness," Mrs. Malfoy interrupted softly. Rose, Scorpius, and Mr. Malfoy all turned around to look at her. Her mouth had fallen open and her eyes, wide and astonished, were transfixed by Rose's hand, which was gripping Scorpius's fingers very tightly.

Hastily, Rose dropped Scorpius's fingers. But Mrs. Malfoy shook her head slowly. In two strides, she crossed the room and seized Rose by her left elbow, holding her arm upwards, towards the chandelier.

In the vibrant lighting of Malfoy Manor's drawing room, the dazzling glimmer of the diamond on Rose's ring finger was unmistakable.

* * *

"I've never seen him like that," Scorpius said numbly.

Rose stared down at her wineglass, simply for an excuse not to look into Scorpius's eyes—which, the last time she'd glanced up, had been drawn and miserable.

The two of them were closeted together in a deserted, mercifully quiet corner of the Leaky Cauldron. They had left Malfoy Manor five minutes earlier, after the angriest, most heated argument Rose had witnessed in her life. If she sat very still, she swore she could still hear Mr. Malfoy's furious voice ringing in her ears.

"I can't believe it," Scorpius croaked, and Rose's heart fell to her feet. "I can't believe I said those things to him."

"I'm sorry," Rose whispered. A painful lump formed in her throat. "Scorpius, I'm so sorry."

Scorpius looked up, diverted. "Oh, no—no, Rose—"

"It's my fault," Rose interrupted. Tears stung the corners of her eyes; she stared determinedly down at her Chardonnay. "You should've listened to your father. You shouldn't have brought me—"

"Stop it," Scorpius said sharply. "Rose—"

"We've only been dating two years," Rose said in a strangled voice, not bothering to hold her tears back any longer. "You proposed to me in a cheap hotel room in Florence. What if—what if this is all a giant mistake?"

Scorpius fell silent, but Rose could feel his eyes boring into her skull. At long last, she looked up. His expression was blazing.

"I don't think this is a mistake," Scorpius said quietly. "Any of it—not for a second."

And just as it had done the very first time Scorpius Malfoy had looked at Rose Granger-Weasley with those eyes, determined and resolute, Rose's heart somersaulted. A rush of emotion overwhelmed her, but she didn't dare break eye contact with Scorpius; the intensity of his gaze was intoxicating.

"Neither do I," she whispered.

 _It was odd,_ Rose thought to herself, as she and Scorpius stared at each other across the table, how a relationship that had begun simply as an academic convenience at Hogwarts—as a way for Rose and Scorpius to tie for the top marks in their classes—had become so much more in just a year abroad. Sometimes, Rose wondered what would have happened if both of their careers hadn't inadvertently beckoned them to Italy at precisely the same time.

What would have happened if Rose had settled for a high-paying secretarial job in the Law Enforcement Office, rather than resolving to pursue her passion for Wizarding art in Florence? And what would have happened if Scorpius had declined the Italian Ministry's low-paying, but transformative one-year international transfer program, in favor of kick-starting his career in the British Department of International Magical Cooperation with a much higher salary?

Would their relationship have survived? Would it even have existed?

Would Scorpius have brought a different girl home to Malfoy Manor that evening?

Rose blinked, and a lump formed in her throat.

"I love you," she said suddenly, reaching across the table for Scorpius's hand. "I love you, and if that's not enough for your father, then there's nothing I can do about it."

Scorpius looked taken aback. "Rose—"

"I love you," Rose said again—firmly. There was not an ounce of doubt in her mind. "And I'm _not_ sorry I'm marrying you."

Scorpius stared at her. Then, smiling slightly for the first time that evening, he squeezed her hand.

"I'm not sorry, either," he said softly.

* * *

 _Two days later_ _…_

* * *

Rose crept down the staircase, biting her lip. It was nearly a quarter past ten, and although she had retired to her bedroom a half-hour earlier, the nagging worry in the back of her mind had refused to dissipate, keeping her wide awake.

Silently, Rose tiptoed down the last step and towards the doorway of the parlor. Drawing her wand, she pointed back towards the staircase and whispered, " _Muffliato_." Hugo was in his room, and quiet and intelligent though he was, he had indubitably inherited their mother's quick temper. Rose had a sinking suspicion that there were going to be a great deal of raised voices in the house that night, with or without her brother's input.

She had reached the parlor. Peering through the doorway, Rose spotted her mother and father relaxing in their matching armchairs by the fireplace. Releasing a soft sigh, Rose slipped the familiar diamond ring off of the fourth finger of her left hand, and tucked it into the pocket of her dressing gown. If nothing else, she and Scorpius had learned one thing from their debacle at Malfoy Manor, two nights earlier.

Rose closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

Then, she cleared her throat. "Can I talk to you both for a minute?"

Mum and Dad jumped, turning simultaneously around to stare at their daughter.

Mum smiled. "Of course, sweetheart," she said warmly, gesturing towards the nearby sofa. "What is it?"

Rose took her time walking towards the sofa. She could feel her parents' curious eyes on her, as she sidled past their armchairs and slowly took a seat on the sofa.

Finally, with a deep, reassuring breath, she met their gazes. "I have something to tell you," she said seriously, looking from her mother to her father. "And I…think it would be best if I just came right out and said it."

Immediately, both Mum and Dad tensed; Dad's eyes narrowed slightly. Rose swallowed heavily and braved on.

"This past year, in Italy," she continued softly, "was one of the best years of my life. Being away from England really helped me make some…important decisions about my future."

Dad raised his eyebrows. Mum frowned.

Rose straightened her shoulders and lifted her chin, fixing her parents with a confident look. "Mum, Dad…I'm…in a relationship with Scorpius Malfoy."

Mum's jaw dropped. Dad's face, however, remained eerily expressionless.

"I'm sorry," he said, his tone calm; Rose's stomach flipped unpleasantly. "Did you just say that you were in a relationship with Scorpius Malfoy?"

Rose nodded, keeping her gaze firmly on her father's. She was bracing herself for the explosion, preparing to react accordingly.

Dad was silent for several moments. Then—

"No," he said bluntly. "I won't allow it."

A fire burst into to life in Rose's head. She glared at her father.

"I wasn't asking for permission," she said coldly. Next to Dad, Mum still looked dumbfounded. "Scorpius and I have been together since our seventh year. We were both working in Italy this past year, so—"

" _What_?" Dad's face contorted with fury. He leaped to his feet. "Are you telling me you've been hiding this from us for _two years_?"

Rose climbed to her feet, as well, opening her mouth to retaliate, but she was interrupted by her mother, who, it seemed, had found her voice at last.

"Rose, Ron—sit _down_ ," Mum said in a steely voice. Dad rounded on her, plainly ready to argue, but was quelled by his wife's sharp gaze. Swearing under his breath, he threw himself back down onto his armchair and crossed his arms. Rose too slowly sank back into the sofa, glowering at her father.

Mum turned to Rose, her expression serious. "Rose, you can't spring something like this on us out of the blue and expect everything to be all right—"

"Why not?" Rose demanded hotly, curling her hands into fists. "Why can't a witch tell her parents that she's dating a bloke and have them be happy for her? Why can't you two be _normal_ parents?"

"Because this isn't a _normal_ bloke!" Dad flared up again. "He's a Malfoy!"

Mum closed her eyes, gritting her teeth. "Ron, that's not how I wanted to—"

"But you're the ones who taught me not to judge a person by their family!" Rose countered, her voice echoing through the room. "You're the ones who've always said that a person is more than their house or family! Besides, Scorpius was a Ravenclaw! So if this is about your stupid, old-fashioned prejudices—!"

"This isn't a schoolboy grudge, Rose!" Dad interjected furiously. His ears and face were a vivid shade of maroon. "You are _not_ dating Malfoy! It's nonnegotiable!"

Mum spoke again, looking very cross. " _Ron_ —"

But Dad's groundless, baseless refusal had fueled the fire in Rose's brain; she was propelled to her feet again. Hot, angry tears were stinging her eyes, and she was shaking with fury.

"You know, I was hoping that you'd be a bigger man about this than Mr. Malfoy," she spat, as tears blurred her vision. "Scorpius says his father hasn't spoken a _word_ to him since he brought me to Malfoy Manor. And as it turns out, you're no better than he is!"

For the first time, her words were met by a ringing silence. Rose looked at her parents, taken aback. Mum had frozen in her seat, her eyes wide. And Dad, though his face was still red, no longer looked angry.

He looked like he'd been slapped. It was worse.

It was several, long minutes before he spoke, and when he did, his voice was very quiet.

"You went to Malfoy Manor?"

Whatever Rose had been expecting, it certainly wasn't that. She stared at her father, completely caught off guard by the change in his tone. Next to him, Mum was staring at him, slightly openmouthed.

"Yes, two days ago," Rose said slowly, utterly bewildered. "Scorpius and I went to talk to his parents."

There was a pause.

Then— "Go to your room," Dad snapped.

Rose gaped at him. "What?"

"Go to your room," he ordered again, his voice rising dangerously. "We'll talk about this tomorrow—just _go_ to your room."

Rose knew immediately that she had overstepped a boundary, but for the life of her, she couldn't fathom what it was. She looked to her mother for support, but for the only time in Rose's memory, Mum appeared to be speechless. The sight filled Rose with a rush of mingled fury and frustration.

Without a word, Rose stalked to the fireplace and grabbed a fistful of Floo powder from the ashtray on the mantel. She could apparate, but even in her raging, reckless state, she knew better than to leave the house without telling her parents where she was going.

Viciously, she hurled the Floo powder into fireplace. The flames turned emerald-green and roared, growing higher, as Rose stepped into them.

"Chez Potter!" she bellowed. The last thing she saw, before she was whisked away, was her mother burying her face in her hands.

* * *

Author's Note:

SPOILER ALERT! I know this story doesn't follow the events of Cursed Child completely, but...I just can't kill Astoria off. I like her. Plus, I thought Draco was way too nice/tame in CC. I agree the war changed him for the better, but I think he got too much redemption in the play...lol.

Anywhoooo, this is Chapter 1 of 4. Tell me what you think!

Ari


	2. The Truth

" _Rose_?" Auntie Ginny's alarmed voice cracked like a whip through the Potters' cozy living room, as Rose threw out her arms and fell forward onto the carpeted floor. "I didn't know you were coming over!"

Rose clambered to her feet, dusting off her sooty pajamas. "I—I didn't tell anyone," she said; her voice came out oddly strangled.

Auntie Ginny set the _Evening Prophet_ aside, sitting up straighter in her armchair. "Is everything all right, sweetheart?" she asked with a worried frown.

"Yes," Rose said quickly, averting her eyes. "Everything's fine."

Auntie Ginny nodded slowly, looking unconvinced. "Well…Lily's in her room, of course, but James and Al are at the Cauldron for drinks with the Wood brothers tonight—"

"Actually," Rose interrupted, biting her lip, "I was wondering…is Uncle Harry awake?"

Auntie Ginny looked surprised. Nonetheless, she didn't question Rose further. That was Rose's favorite thing about her godmother; she never badgered Rose.

"He's in his study," she told Rose with a small smile, before picking up the _Prophet_ again and smoothing it out.

"Thanks," Rose said gratefully, setting off in the direction of Chez Potter's spiral staircase. She took the stairs two at a time, hurrying down the corridor and coming to a standstill outside the last door. Raising her hand, she knocked twice.

"Come in," called a tired voice.

Rose seized the door handle and swung open the door.

"Rose!" Her godfather looked just as surprised to see her as her godmother had, as he stood up from his chair to give her a hug. "Your parents didn't say you were coming!"

"They didn't know I was until a minute ago," Rose said sullenly, flinging herself onto the chair opposite Uncle Harry's desk. She looked at him. "And neither did I," she added darkly.

Uncle Harry shot her an amused glance, as he sat back down. "You got back from Italy barely two days ago," he said, shaking his head. "You couldn't wait a little longer to start picking fights with them?"

Rose glared at him. "You're my godfather! You're supposed to be on my side!"

Uncle Harry rolled his eyes. "Tell me what the matter is, then."

Rose stared at him, chin quivering. Then, she burst out, "Everything!"

And she began to explain: her father's anger, his irrational refusal to give Scorpius a chance, her mother's uncharacteristic silence during the whole ordeal…Rose watched her uncle's expression morph from bewildered, to understanding, and then finally, back to amused.

"So he's being a hypocrite!" Rose finished angrily, throwing her hands in the air. "After nineteen years of teaching me not to judge a book by its cover, he goes and does just that! It couldn't matter less to him that Scorpius makes me deliriously happy! I mean, you've _met_ Scorpius, Uncle Harry! He and Albus have been friends since fifth year! You _know_ he's a perfectly nice bloke!"

"Rose," Uncle Harry sighed. "Nice bloke though he may be, at the end of the day, he's still Draco Malfoy's son. It's going to take your parents longer than a ten-minute conversation to warm up to the idea of the two of you being in a relationship."

"That's what Mum said," Rose huffed, glowering.

"Well, she's right," Uncle Harry agreed. "And I'm sorry, but it certainly doesn't help your case that the two of you spent a year together in Italy doing Merlin-knows-what when you weren't working," he added sternly, and Rose blushed. "I'm guessing your father didn't take too well to that piece of information?"

"No," Rose muttered; Uncle Harry chuckled. "But that wasn't even the worst part!" she continued furiously, recalling the final moments of the conversation. "He was willing to talk, up until I mentioned Scorpius's parents. Then, he just told me to go to my room!"

Uncle Harry raised his eyebrows. "What exactly did you say about Scorpius's parents?"

Rose shrugged. "I told Mum and Dad that Scorpius and I went to Malfoy Manor to tell _them_ first…and then, Dad got all red and blotchy, and Mum just froze up."

For several, long moments, Uncle Harry didn't respond. Rose looked up; he was wearing an expression of mingled shock and disbelief.

Rose frowned. "Uncle Harr—?"

"You _went_ to Malfoy Manor with Scorpius?"

Rose blinked, and a wave of déjà vu swept over her. "Yes," she said, for a second time. "So what?"

Uncle Harry sighed loudly, climbing to his feet and running a hand through his graying hair. He began to pace the length of the study, behind his desk; Rose watched him, stomach twisting.

Then, suddenly— "Rose, what do you actually know about the Malfoys?"

Rose started. "What?"

Uncle Harry had stopped pacing and was now standing with his hands on the back of his chair, considering her seriously.

"What do you know about the Malfoy family?" he repeated.

Rose shook her head, bewildered. "I…I know that they were Voldemort-supporters," she said slowly. "I know that Lucius Malfoy was a Death Eater, and I know that he was responsible for what happened with Auntie Ginny and the Chamber of Secrets in her first year." Uncle Harry nodded, his expression darkening slightly. "And I know that Draco Malfoy was a git to you, Mum, and Dad at school because you were Harry Potter, Mum was a Muggle-born, and Dad was a Weasley," Rose finished, considering her uncle curiously.

Uncle Harry nodded again. Then, he sighed deeply. "Rose," he said softly, "Draco Malfoy was a Death Eater, too."

Rose's mind stuttered to a stop. " _What_?" she gasped. "But—but he was your age!"

Uncle Harry rubbed his stubble, looking pained. "When Lucius Malfoy was arrested and thrown into Azkaban along with a number of other Death Eaters, the June of my fifth year, Voldemort was furious," he explained. "And he knew that the worst punishment would be to hold Lucius's son accountable…so that's exactly what he did."

Rose gazed at her uncle in horror, feeling sick to her stomach.

"Young, proud, and naïve, Draco took the Dark Mark when he was sixteen," Uncle Harry continued quietly. He paused, turning to stare out of the study room window with a hard expression. "He made a lot of…mistakes. He came to fear the title."

Rose stared at her godfather, lost for words.

Uncle Harry snapped his attention back onto her. "Do you know of Scorpius's grandmother, Narcissa Malfoy?"

Rose jumped, rather disconcerted by the sudden shift in the conversation. "Erm—yeah," she said. "Scorpius told me that she and Lucius Malfoy live in France half the year, now."

"Yes…well, Narcissa had two older sisters," Uncle Harry explained. "Bellatrix and Andromeda."

Rose let the information wash over her, heart racing. "Bellatrix?" she whispered, meeting Uncle Harry's gaze. "Bellatrix _Lestrange_? Voldemort's right hand?"

Uncle Harry nodded curtly. "She was Scorpius's great aunt, before she was killed in the Battle."

Rose's mind was working so furiously that she thought it might explode. "And Andromeda…" Rose trailed off. Then, suddenly, it clicked. She faced Uncle Harry in disbelief. "Not Mrs. Tonks!" she exclaimed.

Uncle Harry smiled grimly. "The very same," he said. "Teddy and Scorpius are second cousins. Although, as far as I'm aware, Andromeda doesn't consider them family."

Rose couldn't breathe.

Uncle Harry straightened his shoulders and resumed his pacing. "The Malfoys were always more than just Voldemort-supporters, Rose," he said in an eerily stony tone. "Lucius Malfoy was among Voldemort's most prized lieutenants, along with the Lestranges."

Rose shook her head, blindly willing all of this information to be untrue.

"The Malfoys only escaped Azkaban because I testified on their behalf," Uncle Harry continued in the same steely voice. "Narcissa Malfoy saved my life during the Battle, so in spite of everything, I didn't think that their family deserved to spend the rest of their lives rotting behind bars." He looked at Rose, his green eyes glinting strangely. "However, I will never, ever forget the terrible things they condoned."

Rose shivered involuntarily.

"During the height of the second war, when your parents and I were on the run, Voldemort put a taboo on his name," Uncle Harry told her. "Using his name broke protective enchantments, it caused a kind of magical disturbance—the word was a key to the speaker's location."

Rose blinked. "How did that help him?"

Uncle Harry let out a humorless laugh. "It helped him a great deal, Rose," he said bleakly. "It's different now, but back then, the only people who ever spoke his name were the ones who were serious about taking him down. Anyway," he continued, "One time, when your parents and I were in hiding, I…used the name by accident," he revealed, in a very hard voice.

Rose gaped at him. "You…you were _caught_?"

"We were caught," Uncle Harry confirmed. "We were caught by a gang of Voldemort-sympathizers and brought to the Death Eaters' unofficial headquarters." He stopped pacing for a second time and looked Rose straight in the eye. "Malfoy Manor."

Rose's heart plummeted to her feet. " _No_ ," she whispered.

"Yes," Uncle Harry said heavily, sounding profusely apologetic.

Rose swallowed the lump in her throat. "What…happened there?" she asked, although she wasn't entirely sure that she wanted to know.

Uncle Harry hesitated. "I don't feel comfortable going into details without your parents' permission," he said quietly, and Rose's chest constricted painfully. "But I'll tell you this—Bellatrix Lestrange was involved, and long story short, if you knew what your parents and I—and a few of our friends—went through at that house, you would _more_ than understand why your dad reacted the way he did when he found out that you visited it."

Rose covered her face with her hands, utterly ashamed.

Uncle Harry sighed, coming around the desk. "Rosie," he said gently, kneeling down in front of her chair and pulling her into a tight hug. Immediately, she flung her arms around his neck and buried her face into his shoulder. "I've no doubt that Scorpius is a great bloke, but it's going to take more than my word to convince your parents that he'll be a great boyfriend."

It was a full two minutes before Rose drew back, trembling and white-faced.

"Uncle Harry, Scorpius isn't my boyfriend," she said in a strangled whisper; Uncle Harry frowned. "He's my fiancé."

* * *

"Hermione, I need your help with that Howler spell!" Ron said angrily, from where he was sitting in his armchair, scribbling out a letter with such ferocity that Hermione was surprised that he hadn't yet ripped the parchment in half.

Hermione knelt down by the fireplace with her wand, siphoning off some of the excess soot that Rose had deposited on the carpet. "Ron, please," she sighed. "I've told you, I'm not going to—"

" _Hermione_!" Ron sounded outraged. "How can you possibly take Rose's side on this? How can you forgive that boy for taking her to _Malfoy Manor_ , of all places?"

Hermione closed her eyes tightly, but did not turn around. Reflexively, she reached up and brushed the thin, white scar on her throat—Bellatrix's parting gift.

Swallowing, she faced the flickering fireplace again, directing her wand at it; the flames grew higher, warming the atmosphere. Then, unexpectedly, she noticed a glimmer of silver out of the corner of her eye and she glanced around, frowning.

She gasped, clapping a hand over her mouth.

Lying on the hearth, barely a foot away from the fireplace grate, was a diamond ring.

* * *

"Draco, it's been two days. If you aren't going to come clean with him, _I_ will."

Draco sat up suddenly in bed and glared at his wife. "Astoria, you have absolutely _no_ right—"

"To what, Draco?" she demanded, eyes flashing. "To tell my son things that he deserves to know?"

Draco closed his eyes, clenching his teeth and releasing a slow breath. "I don't want him to marry this girl," he said through gritted teeth. "I'm hoping that if we force a little distance—"

"That's not how this works, Draco, and you know it," Astoria said angrily. "He's been sitting alone in his room for two whole days, and he's barely eaten a _thing_. I've been patient with you because I know you aren't happy about this, but—"

" _Not happy_?" he yelled in a strangled voice. "Astoria, I'm furious!"

"I don't _care_ ," Astoria snarled. "You're making our son miserable. The only reason he's still here at all is because he doesn't want to lose you, but if you don't get your act together and _talk_ to him soon, you're going to lose him regardless!"

Draco opened his mouth to argue, but then closed it again, expression hardening.

Astoria's eyes softened. Slowly, she scooted closer to him on the bed and took his hand in hers, interlacing their fingers; their matching wedding bands clinked together. "Draco, how is this different from our marriage?" she asked softly. "Your parents have never exactly been thrilled about having me as a daughter-in-law, and don't even bother pretending otherwise—you know it's true."

Draco sighed, shaking his head. "It's completely different—"

"Why? Because I'm a pure-blood? Because I was in Slytherin? I've told you a million times, I'm not going to let you base decisions off of—"

"That's not it," Draco interrupted shortly. Closing his eyes, he leaned back against the headboard and rubbed his face. "Astoria…he brought his so-called fiancée into the same drawing room where I once watched her mother being tortured by my aunt. Blood status aside, their engagement is an engagement made in hell."

Astoria didn't respond. After several minutes of silence, Draco himself opened his eyes and looked at her. She was watching him evenly.

"That's not your decision to make," she said quietly.

Draco clenched his jaw. For a long while, he simply gazed, eyes narrowed, at his wife.

Then, suddenly, he climbed out of bed and stalked out of the bedroom. Tying the waistband of his dressing gown more securely, he plodded down the corridor and into the drawing room, glancing at his wristwatch. He looked up at the second-floor landing. Through the darkness, he could see a thin strip of golden light shining from under Scorpius's door.

Shaking his head, he padded up the nearest of the manor's six gold-plated spiral staircases, turning down the first hallway, towards his son's bedroom.

He let out a sharp breath. Then, he rapped smartly on the door.

"Scorpius, I need to talk to you."

* * *

"You're _engaged_ to him?"

Rose's heart seemed to twist itself into a knot and lodge itself in her throat, as she tripped out of the fireplace grate. Her mother and father were sitting side-by-side on the sofa that she had vacated an hour earlier, both sporting expressions of disbelief.

And on the coffee table in front of them sat a very familiar silver ring, set with a single, shimmering diamond.

Mind reeling, Rose plunged a hand into the pocket of her dressing gown. It was empty.

"I-I—" she croaked, utterly horrified. "I can explain."

Dad narrowed his eyes. "I don't see how much clearer it can get than _this_ ," he said waspishly, jabbing a finger viciously towards the ring.

Rose looked from her father to her mother—from one careworn, wrinkled, war-weathered face to the next. They had lived through so much more than Rose would ever be able to fathom. Whatever had happened to them at Malfoy Manor, Rose was certain that they still carried the scars, though whether emotional or physical she did not know. She began to blink rather rapidly, chin trembling.

Then, suddenly, she burst into tears.

" _Rosie_!" Mum looked shocked. In a flash, she got to her feet and hugged her daughter. "Oh, sweetheart, please don't cry—"

"I'm sorry!" Rose wailed, interrupting her. "I'm sorry for g-going to Malfoy Manor. I never knew— _hic_ —about what h-happened there! I should've never— _hic_ —g-gone there without telling you! I'm s-so sorry!"

Both of her parents fell silent.

"Did Harry tell you everything?" Mum asked quietly, pulling away from her daughter and absentmindedly brushing her own throat again.

"N-n-nothing— _hic_ —specific," Rose sniffled, mopping her eyes with the sleeves of her dressing gown and frowning at her mother. _Why did she keep touching her throat_? "H-he didn't want to tell me a-anything specific without your p-permission."

Dad sagged back onto the sofa cushions, heaving a great sigh of relief. Mum, however, was studying Rose very closely.

"Rose, how serious are you about Scorpius?" she asked sharply.

"Completely," Rose said at once.

Dad made a noise of incredulity, but Mum ignored him, as she continued to consider Rose searchingly.

* * *

"No," Scorpius said faintly. "No…no—you're lying to me."

Dad shook his head, looking exhausted. "I'm not, Scorpius," he said shortly.

Scorpius let the impact of everything his father had just divulged to him crash over him, as he slumped backwards against his pillows, eyes wide with horror. He had always known that his family had been near the center of Voldemort's inner-most circle. His father had never tried to hide it, and there had been more than enough rumors and snide remarks at Hogwarts to confirm it. But he had never, ever, _ever_ thought to imagine the atrocities that had come with the title of being in Voldemort's best books.

In the past fifteen minutes, Scorpius had become aware that his father had attempted to assassinate Albus Dumbledore—not once, but thrice; that one of these assassination attempts had misfired and nearly killed Rose's father; and worst of all, that Scorpius's deceased, conscienceless, murderous great aunt had once viciously tortured Rose's mother in the same drawing room where Scorpius and his father had rowed about Rose, two days ago—in _front_ of Rose.

Scorpius sat up suddenly and glared fiercely at his father. "This isn't fair to me—you realize that, don't you?"

Dad stiffened, expression hardening. Scorpius felt a twinge of guilt, but he quickly looked away.

After a few seconds, however, Dad himself sat down on the edge of Scorpius's bed. "Scorpius, I can't change the past," he said in a hollow voice.

Scorpius swallowed heavily, but he continued to avoid his father's eyes, staring resolutely at his bedroom wall instead.

It was several, long moments before Dad spoke again.

"Do you really love this girl?"

Scorpius started, taken aback. At last, he turned to meet his father's gaze. Dad was watching him very shrewdly, his gray eyes narrowed.

The answer rose to Scorpius's lips automatically. "Yeah, I do."

"And there's nothing I can do to change that?"

"No, there isn't."

Dad's lips thinned.

But then, to Scorpius's astonishment, he nodded stiffly. Scorpius stared at him.

"Fine."


	3. The Invitation

15 August 2025

"Don't you look gorgeous this morning."

Rose looked up from the mug of hot tea she was nursing and scowled. Hugo had taken a seat opposite her at the kitchen table; he was smirking.

"Shut up," Rose snapped, flicking a strand of her flyaway auburn curls away from her face and taking a sip of tea.

"Honestly, if the bags under your eyes got any bigger, we'd be able to take them down to the market and shop with them."

"Hugo, _shut up_ or I'll hex you," Rose growled, glaring fiercely at her younger brother, who raised his eyebrows in response.

"Hey, just because Mum and Dad don't approve of your engagement, doesn't mean you're allowed to take it out on me," he said defensively.

Rose almost dropped her mug. Gaping at her brother in horror, she croaked, "How—?"

"Lily told me," Hugo grinned.

Rose stared at him. "How does Lily—?"

"She eavesdropped on Uncle Harry and Auntie Ginny last night."

Rose closed her eyes and released a slow, deep breath. If Lily Potter had discovered that Rose was engaged to Scorpius Malfoy, then the entire family would know by the end of the day. Lily was many things—smart, savvy, fiercely loyal, and an accomplished caster of the Bat-Bogey Hex—but she had a very, very big mouth.

"How come you didn't tell me?"

Rose opened her eyes. Hugo was considering her curiously.

"What?" she frowned.

"I would've helped you convince Mum and Dad," Hugo shrugged. "You know I've always liked Scorpius."

"And how d'you know I didn't already convince them?"

"Please," Hugo snorted. "Have you looked in the mirror, Rosie? You're a mess—and so are Mum and Dad. I saw Mum leave for the Ministry this morning. She looked like a raccoon."

Rose bit her lip and gazed down at her tea. Hugo was only half-right. Rose _had_ spent much of the night lying awake in bed, but it hadn't been entirely because of Scorpius, at all. Listening to her mother describe feeling the floor of the Charms corridor fall from beneath her feet, as Professor McGonagall told her that Ron Weasley had nearly been poisoned…listening to her father describe—in a voice so hollow that it had gone through Rose like physical pain—how helpless and wretched he had felt, clawing at the walls of a stone cellar, while Hermione screamed for her life, begging for mercy, several floors above him…

The impact of the nightmarish conversation had made it impossible for Rose to find sleep. She had been too afraid to close her eyes, lest she dream about foam gurgling at the corner of her father's mouth…or about a knife being held to her unconscious mother's throat…

Rose swallowed heavily, tightening her trembling fingers around the warm mug in her hands.

She had sent a letter to Scorpius first thing in the morning, containing every horrific, gruesome detail her parents had divulged to her. She wanted— _needed_ —him to understand, needed him to realize that their engagement was about far more than just them, needed him to understand that their parents' animosity was far, far more than a house rivalry…

"Good morning…Hugo…Rose."

Rose started, looking around. Her father had swept into the kitchen, his magenta Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes work robes billowing about his ankles. But the vibrancy of his robes did not disguise the obvious fact that he had slept hardly a wink the previous night. Dimly, Rose hoped that her mother didn't have any press conferences or Wizengamot trials to oversee that day; she didn't know how the public would react to photographs of a Minister for Magic who looked as though she had come off worse in a fight.

"'Morning, Dad," Hugo said cheerfully, as he lathered jam on a slice of toast.

"'Morning," Rose murmured, without meeting her father's eye. Dad, for his part, didn't seem like he was particularly keen on catching her gaze anyhow.

There was silence in the kitchen for several minutes, as Rose sipped her tea and stared determinedly down at the table. She could feel Hugo's inquisitive stare flicking between her and their father, who was drinking coffee by the window with his back to them.

Suddenly— "Bloody hell!"

 _BANG_.

Rose jumped, looking up. Her father had slammed his coffee cup down on the counter and wrenched open the kitchen window to allow two birds—one tawny owl and one handsome eagle owl—to swoop inside.

With a soft gasp, Rose leaped to her feet and darted around the dining table to the window, pushing past her father and unfastening the envelope dangling from the ankle of her tawny owl, Athena. With shaking hands, Rose slit open the envelope and withdrew a small, folded piece of parchment, smoothing it out.

 _Dear Rose,_

 _My father told me everything last night. He's written a letter to your parents and sent it with Brutus, the family owl._

 _I'm so, so sorry. I swear, I had no idea about any of it. I would've never taken you to Malfoy Manor if I'd known._

 _Love,  
Scorpius_

Rose read through the letter several times, feeling a lump swell in her throat. It was so typical of Scorpius to apologize for his family's actions from nearly a decade before he'd been born.

"Dad?"

Rose looked up. Hugo had gotten up from the table and joined her at the window. He was staring at Dad in concern. Rose turned to her father; he had untied the letter from the eagle owl's foot and was gazing down at it with a dumbfounded expression.

Then, very abruptly, he ushered the eagle owl out of the window and slammed it shut, latching it tightly. Tucking the letter he was holding into his cloak, he faced his children.

"I'm going to work," he said shortly. "You're not allowed out anywhere today except your grandparents', or your aunts and uncles'. Am I clear?" His gaze lingered on Rose for a second, and she reflexively tightened her grip on the letter in her hands.

"But Dad, Henry Malkin and I were going to go to Diagon Alley—!"

"Not today, Hugo," Dad snapped, snatching up his cloak and stalking out of the kitchen. A few moments later, Rose heard the front door slam shut.

Immediately, Hugo rounded on Rose. "Who was that letter from?" he demanded angrily.

Rose glanced down at the letter from Scorpius. Then, she turned to stare out of the kitchen window. In the distance, she could see Brutus—now a brownish-gray speck—flying back to Malfoy Manor.

"Draco Malfoy," she said, stunned.

* * *

"That nasty, evil git," Ron said furiously, pacing the length of Hermione's office for the sixth time that morning. "Who the hell does he think he is, writing to us? That's it. We need to start having our owls rerouted to the Office for the Detection and Confiscation of Dark Artefacts, Hermione. They'll be able to test our letters for curses and foul enchantments. I bet Dad knows someone who could help us out…"

Hermione pinched the bridge of her nose, trying to block out her husband's blustering tones, as she read the letter that he had slapped onto her desk, a minute earlier.

 _Granger and Weasley,_

 _I've told my son how inappropriate it was for him to bring your daughter to my house on Tuesday, and why. I would apologize on his behalf, but it's become clear to me that you never told your daughter about that night either. I'm certain she would never have accompanied Scorpius to Malfoy Manor had she known the truth herself._

 _The fact remains, however, that our children have gotten themselves engaged. I'm positive that I am no more thrilled about this development than you are, but I've spent the past nineteen years working hard for my son's happiness, and I have no intention of stopping now. I would much rather attend my son's wedding here in England than sit back and watch him run off to Italy again to elope with your daughter._

 _Scorpius, Astoria, and I would like to discuss matters with you and Rose over dinner. We have made a reservation for seven (Scorpius reminded me that you have a son, as well) at the Beauregard Hotel in Upper Flagley, for six o'clock on Sunday. Please send us word of your response at your earliest convenience._

 _Draco Malfoy_

Hermione blinked several times. Then, with a little shake of her head, she began to reread the letter, eyes widening. _I've spent the past nineteen years working hard for my son's happiness, and I have no intention of stopping now_. How unbelievable, how ludicrous, how impossibly unreal that she and Draco Malfoy—the man who had nearly poisoned her husband, the man who had seen her writhe and scream on his drawing room floor, the man whose thoughtless actions Hermione would never be able to forgive—could stand united on such an enormous issue. Suddenly, Hermione had newfound understanding for her mother's belief that all parents were equally stupid about their children's happiness.

She cleared her throat. "Ron."

"…could ask Bill to set something up for us. I'm sure he and Fleur have curse-breaker friends who would love a side project…"

" _Ron_."

"…worst case, I'll get Harry to double the number of Hit Wizards guarding our house. We can tell them to intercept all owls…"

" _Ronald_."

Ron stopped pacing and whirled around to look at her. "What?"

Hermione pointed at the letter sitting on her desk. "What are we going to do about this?"

Ron stared at her. "About what?" he asked blankly.

"The invitation," Hermione said impatiently, picking up the letter and shaking it. "How do we respond to this?"

Ron's jaw dropped. "Are—are you joking?"

Hermione frowned at him. "No, Ron, I'm not," she said slowly. "We…we'll have to do something about it, won't we? If Rose is going to marry Scorpius—"

"She isn't!" Ron exclaimed. "Hermione, there's no way—!"

"Ron, we discussed this last night," Hermione snapped, glaring at her husband. "I told you, I'm not going to be the one to stand in the way of Rose's happiness—"

"Her _happiness_?" Ron scoffed. "She's nineteen!"

"Ron, did you see her last night?" Hermione asked angrily. "Did you see her face when we told her about you being poisoned? Did you see her face when we told her about Malfoy Manor? She was devastated!"

"Of course she was! She was listening to stories about her parents being hurt—"

"—by family members of the man she's clearly in love with," Hermione said quietly, fixing her husband with a stern gaze. "Give our daughter some credit, Ron. She's a smart girl. She'd never agree to marry someone who treated her with anything but the utmost respect."

Ron stared at her for a moment, his mouth slightly open, and Hermione knew that she had rather impressed him with her argument.

But then— "No," he said firmly. "There's no way I'm going to sit down for dinner with Draco Malfoy. Hermione, you can't seriously want—"

"Of course I don't," Hermione said loudly, standing up suddenly and leaning over her desk towards him. "Of _course_ I don't want to have dinner with Malfoy and his wife." Closing her eyes, she took a deep, steadying breath and sat back down. Then, she opened her eyes again and looked at her husband. "But put yourself in her position, Ron. What would you have done if your parents had disapproved of me?"

"Hermione—"

"They haven't invited us to dinner at Malfoy Manor," Hermione interrupted. "And it's not like Scorpius would ever expect Rose to move into that house. From what Al has told Ginny, Scorpius spends as little time there as possible." She paused, considering Ron intently. Then, softly, she added, "Ron, if _Malfoy_ is willing to do this, why can't we—?"

"Because the slimy bastard and his family worked just as hard to bolster Voldemort as we worked to bring him down," Ron said harshly, flinging a hand in the air. "Because Bellatrix Lestrange didn't torture the woman he was in love with and force him to listen. Hermione, I'm _never_ going to forget that, do you understand me? _Never_. I'm _never_ going to forget that night because it's the most terrified and helpless I've ever felt in my life, and I have no idea what the _hell_ I'd have done if—" he stopped short abruptly.

Hermione had swept around her desk and caught him in a tight embrace.

It was crushing and suffocating, but Hermione didn't care. She needed to hear the steady rhythm of Ron's heartbeat, needed to know that he was real, that he was _there_ …because all of her senses were telling her that it was impossible that they could have survived everything that had happened to them…and yet, her husband's beating heart was insisting that they had…

Hermione didn't know quite how long they stood together. The clock on the wall of the Minister's office told her that it was only two minutes before they broke apart, but when she pulled away and looked at Ron's ashen face, she knew at once that he too had just relived several years of his life. Swallowing a few threatening tears, Hermione reached up and took Ron's face in her hands.

"Ron, look at me."

Pressing his lips together, Ron looked up and met her gaze. Hermione gently brushed a tear away from the corner of his right eye.

"I still have nightmares about the day McGonagall found me on the third floor and told me that you'd nearly died," she told him quietly. "I still have nightmares about Malfoy Manor. I will never, _ever_ ask you to forget any of it, Ron, because I'm never going to either." She paused, taking a deep breath. "I'm only asking you to move forward, for Rose."

* * *

"Why haven't we heard back? We should've heard back by now. Brutus got back three hours ago."

Draco rolled his eyes, ignoring his son's muttering and idly turning a page of the _Daily Prophet_. Scorpius was sitting in the armchair across from his own, nervously tapping his foot against the marble floor. Every few seconds, he would sit upright and shoot a hopeful glance in the direction of the drawing room's high windows. But then, with a disappointed sigh, he would settle back into his seat and continue tapping his foot on the floor.

"Draco, I'm going to Daph's to help her and Theo pack for the Isle of Skye."

Draco lowered his newspaper. Astoria had entered the drawing room, pulling on her traveling cloak. He nodded at her. "All right."

"Why don't you ever take _me_ to beautiful islands for our anniversaries?" Astoria sniffed reproachfully, walking towards the fireplace.

Draco quirked an eyebrow. "When we've been married as long as Theodore and Daphne, I'll take you to any island you want."

Astoria smirked at him. "Our twenty-fifth is in two years, Draco. I'll be holding you to that promise."

Draco shook his head, smiling slightly.

"Hey, Mum," Scorpius called, in an unconvincingly casual tone. "D'you know if any owls have arrived in the north hall this afternoon?"

Astoria froze with her hand above the Floo powder jar, exchanging a fleeting look with Draco over the top of Scorpius's armchair.

"None, darling," she said gently. "Not yet. I'm sorry."

Scorpius shook his head. "It's all right," he said, in a voice filled with determined bravado. "I was just wondering."

Astoria bit her lip, staring at the back of her son's armchair. Then, she turned and shot Draco a stern look that plainly said, _Talk to him_.

Draco frowned at his wife, ready to argue, but faltered slightly at the ferocious expression on her face. After several more moments of mutinous glaring, Draco sighed and relented, nodding stiffly. Astoria gave him a winning smile. Then, with a blaze of green, she disappeared into the fireplace.

Clearing his throat, Draco folded up his newspaper and tossed it aside. "Scorpius, you need to be patient," he said curtly. "You can't expect them to jump for joy at a dinner invitation from me. You should consider it a good sign that they haven't already sent us a refusal."

Scorpius stared at his father for a moment. Then, without a word, he turned abruptly to face the bay windows.

Gritting his teeth, Draco bit back an angry retort and reached for the _Prophet_ again. But suddenly—

"What if she ends it?" Scorpius asked quietly. "What if she doesn't want to be together anymore?"

Draco paused with his fingers a few inches away from the newspaper, studying Scorpius's profile closely. He was still staring at the window, but his jaw was clenched and his dark brown eyes—Astoria's eyes—were alight with a very real fear. Draco felt his frustration ebb away.

"Scorpius, I'm not going to lie to you. You should brace yourself for the worst. If there's one thing I've learned about the Weasleys, it's that they stick up for their own," Draco told his son grimly, eyes glinting. "But if you've heard anything I've been telling you for the past nineteen years, then you'll know that Malfoys are no different."

* * *

"What's this I hear from Roxy about Rose and Scorpius Malfoy?"

Ron had to resist a groan. Looking up from the shelf of Decoy Detonators he was restocking, Ron met George's amused smile with a glare and slammed a Detonator onto the shelf with such force that it exploded, spraying both brothers with ash.

"Does the entire family know that my daughter's engaged to the son of the world's twitchiest ferret?" Ron barked angrily, dusting ash off of his robes.

"Pretty much," George smirked, drawing his wand and vanishing the ash and the broken Detonator with a casual wave. "So, how're you feeling?"

Ron glowered at his elder brother. "How would you feel if Roxanne came back from a one-year stint in Florence and announced that she was engaged to Draco Malfoy's kid?"

"Not too surprised, if I'm being honest," George said unconcernedly, picking up a Decoy Detonator from the crate at Ron's feet and placing it on the shelf. "Roxy's a rebellious kid. Always has been." Ron heard a distinct note of pride in his brother's voice. "But this is ickle Rosie we're talking about—Prefect, Head Girl, ten Outstanding O.W.L.s, eight Outstanding N.E.W.T.s…I don't think she's ever put a _toe_ out of line before now."

Ron exhaled loudly. "I should've known something was up the moment Rose told me she was going to reject the job offer from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and pursue _art_ ," he muttered mutinously. "She worked so hard in school, George, I couldn't believe she wanted to throw everything away to move to Italy for an _art_ apprenticeship. Now, I'm starting to wonder whether Malfoy talked her into it—"

"Ron, that's not fair," George interrupted, frowning at his brother. "Rose has always been a talented artist. She's the one who designed all of those front displays for the shop, remember? And you know as well as I do that there's no boy in the world who can convince Rose to do anything she doesn't want to."

"Oh, for the love of Merlin, don't tell me _you're_ on Rose's side, too," Ron groaned. "Do you _want_ Draco Malfoy to be her father-in-law, George?"

"Of course I don't," George rolled his eyes. "But you should consider yourself lucky that Rose came back from Italy engaged, not married. Believe it or not, she cares what you think. She's the biggest daddy's pet I know."

Ron stared at his brother. "When did you get so smart about this stuff?"

George smirked. "I've always been smart, Ronnie-kins," he said wickedly. "You were always just too slow to keep up."

Easily ducking Ron's punch, George laughed and swept away. Ron shook his head and turned back to the crate of Decoy Detonators, smiling in spite of himself.

Suddenly, the bell above the door of the joke shop rang with a loud _clang_ , and a very strange—but very familiar—awed hush fell over the customers nearest to the door. A few seconds later, Ron heard George call out, "All right, Harry?"

Ron stiffened. He knew exactly what his best friend had dropped by to discuss, and he had absolutely no desire to have that particular conversation.

Dropping the Decoy Detonators he was holding back into their crate, he began to hurry past the shelves, towards the backroom of the shop. But he had barely managed to cross half of the aisle before he was intercepted.

Harry Potter was standing in front of him, arms crossed.

"I knew you'd try and run," he said in amusement.

Ron glared at him. "I wasn't running from you," he lied. "What are you doing here, anyway? It's half past two. You should be at work."

"I'm the head of Law Enforcement," Harry grinned. "I can take a lunch hour whenever I feel like it."

Ron snorted. "My wife's Minister for Magic," he retorted, walking back towards the crate of Decoy Detonators he had abandoned near the far end of the aisle. "And she can fire you in a second if she finds out you've been abusing your position."

"Fair point," Harry laughed, following him towards the crate. "But as it so happens, your wife gave me permission to visit you."

Ron froze in the act of seizing a handful of Decoy Detonators and threw Harry a dark look. "She told you about the dinner invite, didn't she?"

"Yep," Harry said simply, bending to pick up a Detonator from the crate. A moment later, however, he cried out in alarm and leaped backward, clutching his hand as though burned.

"There's an enchantment on the crates," Ron explained, snickering as Harry cradled his injured fingers. "Only employees can touch products before they've been shelved."

"Typical George," Harry mumbled, shaking his head.

There was a brief silence, as Ron continued to stack Detonators.

Then— "So…what are you going to do about the invite?" Harry asked in a low voice.

Ron avoided his friend's gaze. "Dunno."

Harry didn't respond. Finally, with a sigh, Ron turned around to face him, folding his arms across his chest. "I suppose you think I should accept?"

To Ron's surprise, Harry shook his head. "No, I don't."

Ron stared at him. "You don't?"

"No, I think that you should do whatever your gut's telling you to. If you really don't feel comfortable sitting down for dinner with Malfoy, you shouldn't. But if you're refusing the invitation for any other reason, Ron, then you should reevaluate."

Ron rolled his eyes. "You're such a bloody _Auror_ , Harry."

Harry laughed, leaning back against the shelf. "Ron, you might run a joke shop now, but I know for a fact that you're still every bit the Auror you were nineteen years ago," he said, grinning. "Your instincts are as impeccable as they've ever been." He paused, considering Ron shrewdly. "Especially when it comes to your children."

Ron was quiet for a moment, biting his lip. Then, after neatly arranging several more Detonators on the shelf, he turned to face his friend. "I want to accept, for Rose's sake," he whispered. "And so does Hermione, but…" He swallowed heavily. "I know it happened almost thirty years ago, Harry, but I remember that night like it happened yesterday. What if it all just comes rushing back? What if I do something I regret?"

Harry cocked his head to the side. "You're stronger than that, Ron," he said, frowning. "I remember that night like it was yesterday, too. I remember a lot of nights like they were yesterday, and there are a lot of people I'd love to curse if I got the chance…but I wouldn't. And I know you wouldn't either. We're better than they were."

Ron stared at Harry. Thirty-four years of friendship later, his best friend still had a stranglehold on his conscience.

Slowly, Ron turned back to the shelf. "I need a little longer to think," he said quietly.

Harry nodded. "I'll take it," he said, smiling. "As long as I can tell Hermione that you're no longer planning on sending a Howler to an unsuspecting nineteen-year-old."

Ron snorted. "Funny how she still bosses us around, isn't it?"

"Some things'll never change," Harry chuckled, shaking his head. "I'll see you later, mate."

"See you, Harry."

Ron picked up the now-empty Detonator crate and followed his friend past several aisles, towards the front entrance of the joke shop. Then, just as Harry reached for the door handle, Ron was seized by a bizarre impulse—an inexplicable desire to know the answer to the question that had been badgering his mind all day.

"Hey—Harry!" he called out.

Harry turned around, eyebrows raised. "Yeah?"

Ron struggled with himself for a long moment, opening and closing his mouth several times. At last, with an impatient sigh, he asked in a low voice, "D'you…d'you think he makes her happy?"

Harry stared at him. Then, he smiled.

"Deliriously."

* * *

Author's Note:

EEP. Things are getting real! Stay tuned for the final chapter, aka the dinner from hell XD

Ari


	4. The Dinner

17 August 2025

Albus, James, Lily, and Hugo were scattered around various parts of Rose's bedroom, watching her get ready. James and Albus were sprawled out on her bed, Hugo—already sporting his finest dress robes—was sitting at his sister's desk, and Lily was lying on the rug, idly shooting red sparks out of the tip of her wand. Meanwhile, Rose was standing in front of her vanity, desperately trying to tame her unruly mane of auburn hair.

"I still can't believe you managed to convince your dad to have dinner with the Malfoys," said Albus in amazement. "Even _my_ parents haven't had dinner with them, and Scorp and I have been friends for years."

"I told you, Al, I didn't do anything," Rose responded through clenched teeth, wincing as she tugged her hairbrush through a particularly painful knot in her reddish-brown curls. "In fact, I'm pretty sure Uncle Harry is the one who convinced him. Uncle George told me that Dad looked a lot happier on Friday after he came by the shop."

"Yeah, trust Dad to find a way to wheedle Uncle Ron into having a cordial meal with his arch-nemesis," James snorted. "I swear, he probably gives criminals the 'I'm very disappointed in you' talk before he arrests them."

Albus laughed, nodding. "Honestly, you wouldn't believe some of the things I've heard about him in the Auror Department. Did you know that Dad told Voldemort to try for some _remorse_ during their final duel?"

James sat bolt upright in bed and gaped at his brother. "You're _joking_ ," he said incredulously.

"No, that sounds about right," Hugo chimed in, looking impressed. "Professor Binns once said that Uncle Harry didn't kill Voldemort—he tried to save him."

James shook his head slowly, settling back against Rose's pillows with a stunned expression on his face. "Harry Potter is a bloody saint."

Albus, Lily, and Hugo laughed, but Rose swallowed heavily, trying to mitigate the queasy feeling that had emerged in the pit of her stomach. Much of the blind happiness and gratitude that she had felt when her father had come home from work on Friday and announced that their family would be meeting the Malfoys for dinner on Sunday evening had dissipated over the past two days, and had been replaced with a gnawing, tormenting guilt. In just half-an-hour, her father would be sitting at a table with a man who had nearly succeeded in poisoning him…in just half-an-hour, her mother would be sitting at a table with a man whose aunt had nearly taken her life…

Nervously, Rose gathered her long auburn plait over her left shoulder and began to tie the end with a gold ribbon. But suddenly, with a loud _snap_ , the ribbon gave away and hit the mirror, bouncing off of the vanity table, and falling to the floor. Cursing under her breath, Rose clutched her plait with one hand and knelt down in front of her dresser, retrieving the pieces. But as she drew her wand from her robes and waved it distractedly at the broken ribbon, several locks of her hair came loose from her braid. And worst of all, rather than repairing itself, the golden ribbon simply gave an odd twitch and fell off of the vanity tabletop and back to the floor. Rose stared at it, trembling with frustration.

Suddenly, Rose felt a warm hand on her shoulder, and she looked around to find that Lily had gotten up from the rug and joined her at the vanity. With a flick of her wand, Lily restored the hair ribbon. Then, she pointed her wand at the back of Rose's hair and executed a complex flourish. Miraculously, the sloppy auburn plait tightened, and the numerous stray locks flew back into place. Snatching the ribbon up from the vanity, Lily deftly tied it at the end of Rose's braid.

Then, placing her hands on Rose's shoulders, Lily swung Rose around to face her. Rose stared at her, chin trembling traitorously.

"Quit worrying," Lily said gently. "They're doing this because they love you."

Taking a deep, shuddering breath, Rose closed her eyes and nodded. Simultaneously, she and Lily stepped forward and embraced.

After several moments, Rose pulled away, smiling slightly and feeling considerably lighter. Lily patted her back reassuringly. Smoothing out her olive green dress robes, Rose turned around to face James, Albus, and Hugo. "How do I look?" she asked them, lifting her chin and squaring her shoulders confidently.

"Like a Malfoy," James smirked, and Albus snorted with laughter, elbowing him.

Lily rolled her eyes at her brothers. "You look amazing," she told Rose warmly. Then, with a cheeky grin, she added, "Scorpius isn't going to know what to do with himself."

Immediately, Hugo, Albus, and James groaned loudly.

"Lily, that's my sister!" Hugo complained, bending over and pretending to vomit into Rose's rubbish bin.

"Yeah, and Scorpius is a bloke," Lily countered, arching an eyebrow at him. "And his fiancée looks bloody incredible."

Rose beamed at her cousin. Slowly, she revolved on the spot to look at her reflection in the vanity, one final time. She was wearing minimal, but elegant makeup—a touch of gold on her eyelids and dashes of pink on her lips and cheeks. Her dark green robes contrasted perfectly with her dark red hair. And she was wearing her favorite earrings, a nineteenth birthday gift from her father—a pair of elegant golden chandelier drops that fluttered whenever she turned her head. Smiling, Rose reached up and gently brushed the left one with her hand. As she did so, the diamond on her ring finger caught the light and glittered slightly. Rose's smile widened.

"You know," Albus called from the bed; Rose glanced at him in the mirror. "If you think about it, it's really all Uncle Ron's fault that he's getting Scorp for a son-in-law in the first place."

Rose raised her eyebrows, turning to face her cousin. "And how exactly did you work that one out?"

"Who the hell tells their eleven-year-old daughter not to get too friendly with a boy she hasn't even met yet?"

* * *

Astoria glanced across her bedroom at Draco, who was sitting stiffly at edge of their bed, staring down at the floor. He was wearing simple, high-collared dress robes and he had combed his receding hair back so that it lay flat on his scalp. And he was barely moving a muscle. His jaw seemed to have locked and his eyes were unmoving, focused blankly on the green carpet.

To many, the sight would have been rather alarming. But after nearly twenty-three years of marriage, Astoria Malfoy was all-too-familiar with her husband's strange tendencies. Unlike most people, Draco didn't fidget, fiddle, or fret when he was tense. Rather, he became very still and quiet.

He had barely spoken a word to Astoria all evening.

Sighing softly, Astoria walked across the room and slowly sat down on the bed next to him. He gave a curt nod of acknowledgement, but otherwise didn't stir.

Astoria cleared her throat. "If it makes you feel any better, I'm nervous, too," she whispered.

Draco's eyebrows furrowed ever-so-slightly, but he didn't lift his gaze from the floor. There were several moments of silence. Then— "Why?" he muttered, so quietly that Astoria almost didn't hear him.

Astoria took a deep breath and looked at her husband. "You knew Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger in school," she said softly. "I've never even spoken to them. And worst of all, I don't have a single thing in common with either of them. They're proper Wizarding heroes, Draco. They helped bring down a wizard whose vile ideals my parents raised me to believe. Hermione Granger has spent her entire career championing Wizarding equality. She's the second Muggle-born Minister for Magic this country's ever had, but she and her husband live incredibly modest lives. I'm a pure-blood woman, living in an enormous manor home, and I…I've never worked a day in my life."

Draco listened to her speak with an unreadable expression. When she had finished, he looked up and met her eyes for the first time. "That's not true," he said sharply.

Astoria started, frowning. "What's not true?"

"The part about you not working," Draco said, gazing at her. "You work harder than anyone I've ever known. You've…done more for this family than I can say, Astoria."

Astoria stared at her husband, and an inexplicable rush of affection welled up in her. She had long-accepted that Draco was far from an expressive person. He preferred to keep his emotions curtained behind a mask of stoicism, and for the most part, Astoria didn't mind. But there were moments—few and far between, though they were—that Astoria realized just how much Draco loved her, and appreciated her…and how much she loved and appreciated him, in return…

And then, quite unexpectedly, it occurred to Astoria that she and Hermione Granger _did_ have several enormous similarities, after all. They might have grown up on opposite ends of the Wizarding spectrum, but they both loved their husbands. They spent their days doing vastly different things, but they both loved their children, and they had both raised their children on the right side of the law. And clearly, they were both willing to set aside their differences for their children's happiness. If nothing else, that would be enough.

Swallowing heavily, Astoria leaned up and kissed Draco's cheek. He blinked, looking surprised, but nodded stiffly and took her hand in his.

Suddenly, there was a loud knock on their bedroom door, and both Draco and Astoria jumped.

"Mum? Dad? Are you ready to leave? It's a quarter to six."

Draco tightened his grip on Astoria's hand.

* * *

"Try to have a pleasant evening," Ginny said encouragingly, smiling as she hugged Hermione. The two women were standing together by the fireplace of Ron and Hermione's house. "The Beauregard Hotel is incredible. I recommend the salmon."

"I'll keep that in mind," sighed Hermione, looking across the parlor at Ron, who was lingering by the staircase with Harry. Every few seconds, he would glance down at his watch, jaw clenching.

Ginny followed her gaze. "You're worried," she said softly.

Hermione turned to face her sister-in-law, shaking her head. "Can you blame me?" she asked helplessly. She lowered her voice. "I'm about to sit down to dinner with a man who almost killed my husband. I've tried to put up a brave front about all of this, Ginny, I've tried to show Ron that I'm ready to move forward, but the truth is…I'm not."

"Nobody expects you to constantly have it together, Hermione," Ginny said quietly, taking Hermione's hand and squeezing it. "You don't have to be ready for this. There's nothing wrong with being angry." Ginny's expression darkened slightly. "We've been through a lot. And we don't have to start pretending that the Malfoys aren't to blame for a lot of it. Believe me, I had the same dilemma when Al and Scorpius first became friends."

Hermione swallowed heavily, nodding.

Suddenly, Ron cleared his throat, and both Hermione and Ginny looked up. Ron was standing at the foot of the stairs, his mouth set in a thin line.

"Rosie! Hugo! It's time to go!"

* * *

The Beauregard Hotel was an ancient, but astonishingly breathtaking building, located in a quiet pocket of Upper Flagley in Yorkshire. Constructed in Gothic style, the building had an enormous, dome-ceilinged banquet hall, four high towers of dining commons, and several small, but beautifully lit private rooms.

It was in one of these private dining rooms that Draco and Astoria now sat, at a round table set for seven. Scorpius, meanwhile, was hovering by the door, tapping his foot on the floor and chewing on his lip, as he stared down the hallway.

"Scorpius, darling," Astoria said gently. "Have a seat, please. They'll be here soon."

Scorpius shook his head, tapping his foot yet more vigorously, and Astoria bit her lip. She looked at Draco for support, but found that her husband was sitting more stiffly than ever. A muscle was twitching in his jaw.

Sighing, Astoria turned and glanced fondly around at the private dining room. She had always had a very special place in her heart for the Beauregard Hotel, and she knew that Draco did, too. She and Draco had gotten engaged in one of the hotel's private rooms, on an early-January evening, twenty-three years previous. They had had their wedding ceremony and reception in the hotel's grand banquet hall, later that year. Draco's parents had insisted on paying for all of the expenses—out of nostalgia, perhaps; according to Draco, it was in the Beauregard Hotel's banquet hall that Lucius and Narcissa had gotten married, too…

"I'm so glad that my parents are in France right now."

Astoria looked up. Draco had spoken for the first time since they'd sat down.

Astoria smiled at him. "What will they do when you send them the wedding card?"

"Oh, Father will be furious," Draco said sardonically. "Mother will probably cry and curse for a few hours." He paused. "But they'll still come. They would never miss Scorpius's wedding."

Astoria nodded in agreement. She and her in-laws disagreed on many fundamental issues, but she couldn't deny the love they both had for their family, particularly for their only grandson. It was, in Astoria's opinion, one of their more tolerable qualities.

Suddenly— "They're here!"

Astoria looked up. A white-faced Scorpius had darted away from the doorway and sprinted back towards the table. Simultaneously, Astoria and Draco rose to their feet.

Ron Weasley appeared in the entryway first, his expression hard and his eyes slightly narrowed. Then, came Hermione Granger and her son, Hugo, both looking much more at ease than Ron. And last, entered Rose, looking a little nervous but also utterly dazzling in sweeping robes of a deep, stately green. Astoria saw Scorpius's jaw drop. She half-smiled.

For one tense, burning moment, the two families merely stared at each other. Then, after what felt to Astoria like several, uncomfortable hours, Draco cleared his throat.

"Good evening," he said stiffly, extending his right arm to Ron. "Weasley."

Ron stared down at Draco's hand. Astoria held her breath; out of the corner of her eye, she saw Hermione do the same. Then, at last, equally stiffly, Ron reached out and shook the outstretched hand once. "Malfoy."

Both men released the other extremely quickly.

Astoria turned to Hermione. "Hello," she said kindly. "I'm Astoria Malfoy."

Hermione smiled. "Hermione Granger," she said pleasantly. "Thank you for having us."

"Our pleasure," Astoria said politely.

Ron and Hermione took seats opposite Draco and Astoria. Hugo settled down between Hermione and Astoria, and Rose sat between her father and Scorpius. As Scorpius leaned over and kissed Rose's cheek, Astoria saw Ron's grip tighten on his cutlery-napkin fold. Astoria was saved the trouble of distracting him by the arrival of Hervé, the waiter, with the beverage menu.

Hugo ordered a goblet of mulled mead, Ron ordered a brandy, Draco ordered single malt whisky, and Scorpius and Rose both ordered glasses of Vermouth Bianco; Astoria supposed that a year in Italy had refined their tastes. Finally, Hervé turned to Hermione and Astoria.

"A Gillywater, please," Hermione said, folding her menu and handing it back to the waiter.

"Same for me, Hervé, thank you," Astoria added, mirroring Hermione.

Hermione looked at her, smiling.

"I haven't been able to stomach hard liquor since my thirties," Astoria said dryly. "My mother suggested Gillywater. I haven't looked back."

Hermione grinned. "I completely understand," she agreed, nodding. "I always used to wonder how Kingsley managed to have a drink with every single department head during Ministry benefits. Then, at my inauguration ceremony, he let me in on his secret—Gillywater, preventing hangovers since the eighteen-hundreds, he said."

Astoria burst out laughing.

Every similarity she could find with Hermione Granger was a victory. Even the smallest ones.

* * *

All-in-all, Scorpius thought that the evening was going far more smoothly than he had expected it to. The rigid, unpleasant silence that had preceded the main course had finally begun to dissolve during the past twenty minutes, and Scorpius would have to remember to thank Hugo for his clever conversation maneuvering. Rose's brother had skillfully brought up the only topic, it seemed, that both his father and Rose's father could discuss with each other at length—Quidditch.

The topic had given both fathers ample opportunity to brag on their children. Rose had played lead Chaser for Gryffindor during her time at Hogwarts, and Scorpius had played Seeker for Ravenclaw. Hugo was the Gryffindor team's current Keeper, and from Hugo's confident claims, it appeared that he and his cousin Roxanne—the team's captain—were determined to lead Gryffindor to a house victory this upcoming school year, their final year at Hogwarts.

At the moment, Dad and Mr. Weasley were discussing Puddlemere United's prospects in the upcoming League season. Puddlemere United was the team for which James, Rose's cousin, played Chaser, and it was clear from Mr. Weasley's imperious tones that he was immensely proud of his nephew. Dad, for his part, seemed actually to be trying his hardest not to mock or belittle Mr. Weasley's blind support for two of his least favorite teams: Puddlemere United and the Chudley Cannons. Scorpius felt a rush of gratefulness for his father.

"They're doing all right, aren't they?"

Scorpius glanced to his right. Rose was staring around the table. She looked up and caught Scorpius's gaze, smiling.

He smiled back at her. "Yeah, they are."

"…have any idea of what you might like to pursue after Hogwarts, Hugo?" Mum was asking. "Will you be joining your father in the joke shop, perhaps?"

"No, I don't think so," Hugo shook his head. "My cousin Fred's a lot keener on running the shop than I am. I'm hoping to join the Ministry's research committee. I've always been interested in History of Magic."

Scorpius smirked. "Mum, Hugo's one of the only people in the Wizarding world who actually gets excited about Professor Binns's lectures."

Rose giggled, nodding. Hugo rolled his eyes good-humoredly.

Mum smiled, turning to Rose. "Rose, your mother tells me you're a talented artist," she said warmly. "How did that come to be?"

Rose blushed slightly, looking pleased. "I've always loved painting," she explained. "But I only started considering it as a career in my sixth year, when Minerva—Professor McGonagall—told me about the apprenticeship in Florence with Signora Giordano, the woman who's painted all of the recent headmasters' portraits at Hogwarts. I applied on a whim, but—well, it only took about two weeks in Italy for me to realize that there was nothing else I wanted to do with my life."

"Rose will start working at the Sinclair Studio in Diagon Alley next month, taking commissions for portraits and murals," Ms. Granger beamed proudly at her daughter. "She's already received quite a few requests."

"That's incredible, Rose," Mum said kindly, and Rose blushed pinker still. "Draco and I will certainly have to commission a few paintings for the manor."

The effect of Mum's words was instantaneous. The temperature in the room seemed to drop several degrees. Mr. Weasley dropped his fork onto his plate with a loud clatter, his ears going maroon. Dad's eyes widened, ever-so-slightly. And Ms. Granger's face paled.

Scorpius gazed at his mother in horror.

* * *

Author's Note:

Heh...SURPRISE! I've decided to make this story a five-chapter story instead of a four-chapter story. I wrote out the final chapter and it ended up being about 6,000 words...so I decided it made more sense to just split it up. XD

The last chapter will be posted tomorrow. It's already all written out.

Ari


	5. The Stalemate

It took several moments for Astoria to realize that she had misspoken, and several more for her to absorb the reactions that her words had produced around the table. By the time she had fully processed exactly what she had said, it was too late. Ron had already discarded his napkin and gotten to his feet, his face red with anger.

"Thank you for dinner," he said coldly. "You may send a bill for our portion of the meal to my wife's office at the Ministry, or to ninety-three Diagon Alley."

Utterly horrified, Astoria immediately opened her mouth to protest, to apologize, to beg him to sit back down, but no words came out. Draco intervened.

"Weasley, my wife spoke without thinking," he said sharply, looking Ron straight in the eye. "Please, don't leave on her account."

Ron glowered murderously at Draco. "I don't feel comfortable in this room. I wish to leave."

"Dad!" Rose looked close to tears. "Dad, _please_!"

"No, Rose. We're done here," he said harshly.

"No—no, no," Astoria pleaded in a strangled voice. "I'm so sorry—I didn't realize—it was an accident—"

"An _accident_?" Ron snarled, glaring down at Astoria with such revulsion that Astoria felt tears sting her eyes.

There was a scrape and scuffle as Draco sprung out of his chair and drew his wand. "Don't you dare speak to her like that," he hissed, raising his arm.

"Dad, no!" Scorpius cried.

Astoria gasped. " _Draco_ —"

But she was cut off by a bright blaze of scarlet light, and suddenly, Draco's wand was hurtling through the air. Astoria swiveled around in her seat just in time to see Hermione Granger leap up and catch it in her free hand, her eyes flashing with anger.

"You will _not_ hurt my husband again," she growled, glaring at Draco.

"Hermione—" Ron began weakly, looking torn between astonishment and elation.

"Sit down, Ron," she barked, and Ron—more out of shock, it seemed, than agreement—obeyed, retaking his seat. Hermione lifted her chin, considering Draco icily. "Listen to me closely—I am not sitting at this dinner table because I want to be here. I am not sitting at this table because I find you to be polite dinner company. I am sitting here for my daughter, and for my daughter only. But if you lay a single finger on my husband, I will leave and I will not look back."

Draco and Hermione stared at each other for several long moments. Then, very slowly, Draco lowered himself back into his seat without breaking his gaze, his jaw set and his eyes narrowed. Hermione closed her eyes, releasing a slow, deep breath. Then, she sat down as well, reaching forward and placing Draco's wand back on the table in front of him.

There was a long, pregnant silence.

Then— "I need to use the restroom—I'm sorry," Rose whispered. And without so much as a backward glance at any of her family members, Rose jumped up and hurried from the room. The door slammed shut behind her, echoing loudly in the unnaturally hushed atmosphere.

There was another stunned pause.

"I should go make sure she's all right," Hermione said quietly, pushing her chair back.

"Actually, Mum—can I?"

Astoria looked around, surprised. Hugo, who had been very still and quiet during this entire ordeal, had already gotten to his feet. His expression was stony.

Hermione blinked. "Hugo, I—don't think—"

"I've got this, Mum," he said firmly. He looked at his father, who glanced at his wife, shrugging. Then, Hugo turned on his heel and stalked out of the room.

The silence was now deafening. Astoria felt the weight in her chest tighten further with each passing second. Scorpius was staring down at his lap, refusing to look at either of his parents. Hermione was frowning in the direction of the door, through which both of her children had just disappeared. And Ron, his ears still a deep shade of red, was glaring at Draco. Swallowing, Astoria turned to look at her husband, startled to find that his eyes were already on her.

There was a tense, burning moment as their gazes met. Astoria pressed her lips together.

Draco blinked once, slowly. Then, clearing his throat, he turned and faced Ron.

"I seem to recall that you are something of a chess player," he said smoothly, reaching into an inner pocket of his dress robes and withdrawing a miniature chessboard.

Ron's eyebrows furrowed as he stared at the chess set. "How would you know that?"

Draco raised an eyebrow. "Was the fact that you were awarded fifty house points for your skill an accident?" he asked coolly.

Ron's expression cleared—but only slightly. He continued to glare warily as Draco set the chessboard down on the table between them and tapped it once with his wand, enlarging it. Scorpius glanced between Ron and his father, his mouth open.

"This isn't good," Hermione said in a low voice.

Astoria turned to her left. "Why not?" she whispered.

Hermione shook her head. "Look at their faces. This isn't a game—it's a duel."

Astoria turned back to look at Draco, and with a jolt, she realized that Hermione was right. There was a very real, very terrifying hostility in his eyes. Astoria glanced at Ron. Draco's bitterness and determination was reflected on his face.

The dull ache in Astoria's chest deepened.

She turned to Hermione, stomach turning. "Hermione, I'm—"

"Don't apologize," Hermione said shortly, without meeting her gaze. "I don't need to hear it."

Astoria blinked.

Hermione waited the space of a few heartbeats before speaking again.

"Would you do it?" she asked Astoria quietly, her eyes on Ron, as he arranged his chess pieces on his side of the board, his lips set in a thin line. "If you were in my position, would you have agreed to this dinner?"

* * *

Rose clutched either side of the bathroom sink tightly, her eyes burning painfully with the effort to restrain the howl of mingled guilt and misery that was building in the back of her throat. _She would not cry, she would not cry, she would not cry_ …Rose squeezed her eyes shut, hunching over the sink and taking several slow, deep breaths.

When, at last, she had managed to somewhat slow her breathing, she looked up again and stared at her reflection in the restroom's enormous, spotless mirror. Her bright blue eyes seemed to glow in the dim lighting. Rose swallowed heavily. Those were her father's eyes—her favorite feature. Apart from the reddish-brown of her flyaway curls and her tall, rail-thin stature, Rose most closely resembled her mother. But her eyes…her eyes were completely her father's. And Rose had been so unspeakably proud, at five years old, when she had first become aware of the likeness.

The knot of guilt in the pit of Rose's stomach gave another almighty lurch, and Rose groaned softly, burying her face in her hands. _What had she done_? She had never seen so much hatred in those eyes—her father's anger had been truly frightening. _And her mother's, too_. Hermione Granger rarely lost control, but when she did, it scared Rose more than anything else in the world. And suddenly, Rose felt a fresh wave of remorse overwhelm her, beating her down. What kind of a daughter was she? What kind of a monster was she, to think that this arrangement—this _relationship_ —could work?

Inexplicably, Rose thought of Scorpius, the first—the only—man she had ever loved, of his soft hands, of his warm embrace, the feel of his lips on hers—of the blazing look in his dark eyes as he knelt down in front of her and asked her to marry him at the top of the Piazzale Michelangelo, as the sun slipped behind the horizon, bathing the city of Florence in a magical, red-gold glow…

Rose blinked, and the memory seemed to take root somewhere in her chest, warming her from the inside-out. A tiny bit of the leaden guilt in her gut dissolved.

But then, she remembered the look on her father's face and her stomach twisted into a knot once more.

Gritting her teeth, Rose stepped away from the sink and pushed open the bathroom door, stumbling headlong into her brother.

* * *

" _Hugo_?" Rose tripped backwards, eyes wide.

Hugo folded his arms across his chest and glared at his sister. "Were you ever planning on telling me?" he asked coldly.

Rose blinked. "What—?"

"Don't play stupid with me, Rose," Hugo snapped, his anger bubbling dangerously. "I want to know what the hell happened at Malfoy Manor, and what the _hell_ Mum meant by 'You will not hurt my husband again.'"

Rose's face went pale. "Hugo, I can't—"

Hugo's fury exploded. Swearing loudly, he took a menacing step towards his sister, who stiffened, but stood her ground.

"I hope to hell he's worth it, Rose," Hugo spat, his blood boiling. "I hope to hell he's worth whatever you're putting Mum and Dad through."

" _Hugo_!" Rose's face had turned completely white. She jerked away from him, as though burned.

And in one, staggering moment, Hugo felt his anger disappear, quickly replaced by the gnawing, all-too-familiar shame that always followed the realization that he had gone too far.

He cursed again, softly this time. "Rose," he said quietly. "I didn't mean that."

Rose didn't respond immediately. Gazing blankly at a spot somewhere above Hugo's shoulder, she slumped backwards into the wall and sunk to the floor.

Then— "Yes, you did," she said numbly. "You meant every word."

Hugo stared at her.

Very hesitantly, he crossed the hallway and dropped down to his knees next to her, watching her carefully. "Rose—"

"I love him."

Hugo closed his eyes, releasing a breath. "Rose, I—"

"And I feel awful enough about everything already—I didn't need you, of all people, to make me feel worse—"

"Rose, I get it," Hugo said loudly, seizing Rose's hand. She stopped talking.

There was a silence, as Hugo and Rose gazed at each other.

"I can't let him go," Rose whispered. "I'm—I—I _can't_. I can't break up with him."

Hugo felt his ears grow hot and his face flood with color. _This was not his territory. Where was Lily? Oh, Merlin, where was Lily?_ "Right," Hugo said uncomfortably. "So…don't."

Rose's expression filled with a mixture of exasperation and incredulity. "Hugo, you _just_ said—!"

"I said that he better be worth it," Hugo interrupted shortly. "And clearly, he is."

Rose stared at him, looking stunned. Hugo, feeling suddenly very embarrassed, averted his gaze from hers. There was another very long, heavy silence. Then, suddenly, Hugo heard a sniffle, and he looked up. Rose was blinking very rapidly.

Hugo rolled his eyes. "For Godric's sake," he groaned, throwing an arm around his sister and pulling her into a hug. "You're such a big _baby_."

"Oh, shut _up_ , you horrible little hinkypunk," Rose squeaked, her voice muffled against his shoulder, as she hugged him back tightly.

" _Little_?" Hugo laughed, tackling Rose into a sudden headlock and mussing her hair, much to her displeasure. "I'm seven inches taller than you!"

Rose managed to slip out of her brother's grip and leap to her feet. Giggling, she dodged out of the way just in time, as Hugo lunged towards her and tried to seize her ankle. "That's because you're a gigantic freak!" she shrieked, as Hugo bounded to his feet and began chasing her down the corridor.

"Say that again!" Hugo cried, laughing loudly as he dashed after his sister, steadily gaining on her. Rose was tall, but at six-foot-three, Hugo was much taller. "Say that again, I dare you!"

Throwing an impish look over her shoulder, Rose suddenly ducked down a different, dimly lit corridor. Hugo came to a screeching halt in his tracks, turned left, and bolted down the new hallway after her. He could see her disheveled, auburn braid—almost completely loose of its golden ribbon, now—bobbing up and down a few yards ahead of him. Grinning, Hugo picked up his pace, gathering speed—

" _OW_ —BLOODY HELL—!"

Hugo toppled backwards, arms splayed, and landed hard on the cold, stone floor of the corridor. Rubbing his back, which was jolting with pain, Hugo shook his head, utterly bewildered. Rose—who had stopped dead in her tracks, causing Hugo to run into her—was walking dazedly towards the large, gilded set of double doors at the end of the hall, as though hypnotized.

Hugo blinked. "Rose?" he called.

Rose didn't respond. Instead, she continued to glide towards the open doors, her eyes wide and glassy. For a brief moment, she paused outside the doors. Then, slowly, she drifted inside, and Hugo felt a thrill of panic. Jumping to his feet and ignoring the twinge of pain in his back, he hurried down the remainder of the corridors and stumbled in through the double doors.

"Rose—?" he came to an abrupt halt and gasped. " _Wow_."

They were standing at the threshold of an enormous, breathtaking hall, of which every single surface seemed to glimmer and gleam. The slick, shining floors looked like molten gold, and seven colossal, outrageously tall pillars supported the high-vaulted ceiling. And the _ceiling_ —the ceiling was the most magnificent part, of all. Every inch of it was covered with artwork—vibrant, colorful murals—of witches and wizards, house elves and centaurs, goblins, dragons, unicorns…Hugo gazed, open-mouthed, at a gorgeous painting of a pair of witches holding hands and skipping around in a circle in the middle of a grassy meadow, as a shower of silver sparks fell upon them.

"It's like the Sistine Chapel," Rose whispered, her eyes wide with wonder as she stared up at the ceiling. "Only a thousand times more beautiful."

Hugo looked at his sister and had to repress the urge to snort with laughter at the sight of her expression. Rose had always been a proper sap when it came to art.

" _Excusez-moi_! Zis eez private property! You must book a tour!"

Hugo and Rose swiveled around. Hervé, their short, round, balding waiter, was standing at the door, frowning reproachfully. At the sight of Hugo's and Rose's faces, however, his expression went blank. Then, slowly, a beaming smile began to spread across his face.

"Madam Granger-Weasley!" he exclaimed, bouncing forward excitedly. "Eef I 'ad known zat you weeshed to see ze banquet hall, I would 'ave taken you 'ere myself!"

Rose stared at Hervé, plainly unnerved by this unanticipated change in his disposition. Hugo frowned.

"Do you like eet, Madam?" Hervé puffed proudly, gesturing around at the pristine, glistening walls. "Eez eet all to your sateesfaction?"

"I-I—" Rose shook her head, looking dumbstruck. "It's gorgeous, but…but why are you asking me?"

Hervé gave a tiny, squeaky laugh. "Madam, surely you must know zat ze bride's opinion eez ze most eemportant of all!"

Rose gaped at him. "B-bride?"

Hervé stared at her in a way that made it clear that he was very fearful for her sanity. " _Oui_ , Madam," he said, very slowly. "You and Master Malfoy are to be married soon, _non_? Meester Draco Malfoy 'as already put down ze initial deposit for ze banquet hall. 'E 'as promeesed to pay ze rest, once ze date 'as been confirmed."

* * *

Hermione stared at the chessboard. It was a stalemate. She knew it was. And if she—a woman with no exceptional knowledge or skill in the game—could tell that the match was tied, then she was absolutely positive that both Ron and Malfoy were fully aware of the fact.

And yet, neither man was showing any indication of offering of a draw. Instead, they were both staring at the board with immense concentration.

Hermione rubbed her temples, closing her eyes.

Suddenly, the door to the private dining room burst open. Hermione jumped, looking around. Rose and Hugo had sprinted into the room; Rose's hair was disheveled and sweaty, but her face was positively glowing with excitement. Hermione gaped at her.

She watched, nonplussed, as Scorpius abandoned his scrutiny of the chessboard and got to his feet. She watched as Rose gave a cry of exhilaration and threw her arms around his neck. She watched as Hugo bent down and muttered something in his father's ear. She watched Ron stiffen in his seat and look up at Malfoy in astonishment.

Hermione glanced at Astoria; she looked as perplexed as Hermione felt.

"I would like to offer a draw."

Hermione gasped, snapping her gaze back onto her husband. Ron, his jaw clenched as though he had just been force-fed something unpleasant, had extended a hand across the chessboard.

"I accept," said Malfoy immediately, reaching forward.

They shook hands, and between the two men, Hermione saw a stiff, unsaid agreement pass. And suddenly, Hermione felt a warm, fierce rush of affection for her husband—Ron, who always put his family before himself, whose children's happiness meant more to him than anything in the world…

Hermione glanced at Malfoy. He was clearing up his chess pieces, his eyes on Scorpius, who was watching Rose whisper animatedly with an enchanted expression on his face.

"Yes."

Hermione started, turning to her right. Astoria had spoken for the first time in a very long while.

"What?" Hermione frowned.

"That's my answer to your question," Astoria whispered, gazing across the table at her son. "Yes, I would do it." She paused, swallowing. "For Scorpius."

Hermione turned slowly away from Astoria and looked at her daughter. Rose's face was flushed with happiness and her eyes—her blue eyes, _Ron's_ eyes—were sparkling, as she spoke to Scorpius.

At last, Hermione looked away from her daughter and caught her husband's gaze. For a moment, they simply stared at one another. Then, Ron gave a small, almost imperceptible nod of acknowledgement, and Hermione reached out and took his hand in hers, squeezing it tightly.

 _For Rose_.

* * *

Author's Note:

PHEW. ALL DONE. :D

Hope you all enjoyed this! Please drop me a line!

And keep your eyes peeled for some new and exciting projects, coming your way!

Ari


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